


Smoke, Fire and Galangal

by snorklepie



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Eric feels, Explicit Language, Fandom Trumps Hate 2017, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jack Feels, Jack Has Issues, M/M, Minor Angst, Pre-graduation, Shameless Smut, culinary disaster, inarticulate hockey players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 17:35:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9776216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snorklepie/pseuds/snorklepie
Summary: Bitty glares at him, his arms folding across his chest. “You know, chirping a boy about his accent is not the best way to seduce him, Mr. Zimmermann.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mira](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mira/gifts).



> This is a fic I wrote as part of the Fandom Trumps Hate auction for the lovely and very generous Mira, who was incredibly kind and who asked me to write a Check Please! fic as her introduction to the fandom. There's a lot more hockey in the web comic, but I know more about writing fluff and smut :)
> 
> This is my first foray into writing Check Please! fics and is unbetaed- apologies for any glaring Britishisms that may have crept in :)

The scent of burning is far from unusual in the Haus; but it's certainly been some time since it came from the general direction of the kitchen. 

There was the Halloween kegster when Holster had gotten worryingly creative with the party decorations, and the resulting incident involving several pumpkins, black glitter skull candles, a can of aerosol spiderwebs and a cauldron of dry ice had left the living room singed and reeking for weeks. Jack had thrown a full pitcher of beer over the miniature inferno just in time, although this move had not been appreciated by everyone, particularly the frogs who stood holding empty cups nearby. 

Or the time Shitty had dropped a hot rock on the bathroom carpet during one of his legendary marathon bubble baths. Jack had awoken to the sound of the upstairs hallway fire alarm, leapt out of bed, grabbed a fire extinguisher and burst into their shared bathroom stark naked and swearing extensively in Quebecois. Shitty had merely raised an eyebrow and extinguished the joint in a particularly large tower of suds and asked Jack to pass the loofah. (He had also cast a speculative glance up and down his team-mate, and thoughtfully remarked: ‘cold at night this time of year huh, brah?’)

Jack loves his team-mates; he is particularly fond of them when they are not burnt to a crisp. Because of this, there are now four separate fire-extinguishers around the building, all of them supplied and maintained by him. 

Jack speeds up as he goes downstairs, his socked feet thudding on the scarred wood of the steps.

He had thought he was alone in the house; it's three in the afternoon on a Tuesday and it's reliably a good time to get some study done without the usual interruptions of Ransom and Lardo's seemingly never-ending Kerplunk tournament, or Holster's determined attempts to find ghosts in the attic. The TV is silent and the living room is empty, filled with its customary mixture of discarded sports magazines, games consoles and neglected textbooks. The Haus is quiet and dim in the January light, filled with shadows and dust in the corners. 

A sudden clang and a muffled, bitten-off swear comes from the open doorway of the kitchen and Jack's heart clenches briefly. "Bitty?"

"Dammit! Ah- Jack!" Bitty sighs, frustrated and a little hoarse as Jack runs through the doorway, fire extinguisher at the ready. Wisps of smoke drift from the open oven door, swirling grey trails that billow gently around the large dingy room. There are no visible flames, thankfully; and Jack notes that the stove has been turned off already. Bitty sits on the kitchen floor, an upturned metal dish and the splattered, blackened remains of what appears to be some kind of fruit pie steams gently on the linoleum around him. His tousled head is bowed, staring down at his left hand which is cradled in his right. Jack isn't aware of dropping the extinguisher, only the thud of it onto the ground next to the doorway. His body moves unconsciously; his knees hit the floor hard, almost skidding as he reaches for Bitty. 

"It's fine! I'm fine, Jack!" Bitty insists, an odd little hitch in his voice. "My oven mitt had a hole in it. The timer didn't go off and I was trying to grab the pie out of the oven but I ended up touching the pan by accident. And I dropped the damn pie, and who the fuck cares because it was fucking ruined anyway, right?"

Jack reaches for Bitty's forearm, pulling as gently as he knows how. "Let me see, Bittle." 

Bitty seems inclined to resist for a moment, then sighs and lets Jack have his way. Jack inspects the narrow reddening stripe that brands his palm and three of his fingers. Bitty's forearm is bare, protruding from the rolled up sleeve of his green flannel shirt. It's dusted with freckles and fine gold hair, clearly strong yet the wrist oddly delicate. Jack would like to be able to say that it's the first time he's noticed this about Bitty's arms, but he'd be lying. 

"You need ice. Hold on."

Bitty still doesn't meet his eyes. He keeps staring at the burn. From the corner of his eye, Jack watches one of Bitty’s shoulders rise and fall in a sharp, abrupt movement as he turns to the refrigerator. 

"'M not goin' anywhere, Jack."

There's something off here, something that Jack can feel in his bones but it's something he can't quite fathom just yet. If he were another kind of person, if he were Shitty, say, he would just tell him: _Bitty, what's the matter? It's a damn shame about the pie but tell me what's wrong. Tell me how to fix this, tell me and I will. Tell me how to make your voice sound happy and fond and sure again. Tell me how to make you want to look in my eyes again. Tell me, Bitty. Please._

Admittedly, that might not be exactly how Shitty would phrase it. There would be a lot less angst and probably a comforting noogie or two in there for good measure. Instead, Jack is dredging for words and the hand that reaches for the battered ice-cube tray has a minute tremor that definitely wasn't there a minute ago.

Bitty looks... Bitty looks _small_ on the kitchen floor. And objectively, Eric Bittle _is_ small. He barely clears the shoulder of any of his team-mates, even on the special occasions when he arranges his hair into a polished, jaunty quiff. His shoulders are well-built from years of play and exercise, but all the working out in the world won't make them broad, or his lean muscled legs any longer. But Eric Bittle is a force of nature; he's a mile high in personality and indomitable good nature, and that tends to make Jack forget about his diminutive size a lot of the time. Bitty is sass and energy. He's confidence. And he's excitement and Beyonce songs in the shower. He is kindness and disarming charm; Bitty is rolling eyes and pointed looks over a plate of forgotten food during finals. 

He's a tentative, outreached hand on Jack's back that time when the panic and cold and self-loathing threatened to take over. 

Jack is working on autopilot as he whacks the ice-tray against the counter-top, catching most of the cubes in a dishcloth and twisting the whole thing into a bundle. In his haste, tiny shards of ice fly across the worktops and rebound in fragments. 

He supposes the normal thing to do at this point would be to hand it to Bitty, but what ends up happening is this: he sits back down on the floor, facing Bitty. He reaches for his hand again, and after a moment's hesitation Bitty places his own in Jack's palm. His fingers are slender and slightly callused, his nails short and neat. There is a trace of flour on the side of his pinky and for no particular reason at all, Jack wipes it away carefully before lowering the icepack onto the livid burn, holding it in place with his other hand. 

Bitty's head is still bent over his injured hand but at the cold impact he twitches, pulling his full lower lip between his teeth and wincing. Jack silently watches the sudden furrow between his light brows, the brush of pale eyelashes against his cheek. 

"I'm fine, Jack. Don't fuss." Bitty murmurs, and finally, _finally_ raises his eyes to meet Jack's. They are wide and dark and almost convincing.

And the burn isn't a big deal. It looks painful, sure; but nothing compared to what Bitty's occasionally encountered on the ice. He's largely past his fear of being checked now, and Jack's seen him shrug off sprains and bust lips more than once. It isn't pain that's causing Bitty to curl in on himself like this; nothing physical is causing the tiny tremble in his lower lip.

Jack looks at him for a long few seconds, deliberating and silently rephrasing over and over again. He's no good at this; the words always tangle. He knows what he means in his head, he knows what he feels.

Eventually he settles for: "Bittle. Tell me. Please tell me."

His voice sounds wrong, too sudden, too loud. He clears his throat awkwardly as he stares at Bitty, feeling the back of his neck beginning to bead with sweat.

Bitty takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. He tips his head back as he inhales through his nose, his shoulders dropping in resignation. "'M just being dumb, Jack. I was in a bad mood and I thought baking the stupid pie would take my mind off of it. And then I went and dropped it on the floor and nearly burnt the damn kitchen down and-" he trails off, and swallows hard. "It's just been kind of a bad day, ok?"

"What happened?" Jack murmurs, when it doesn't seem like Bitty is going to elaborate any further. 

Bitty grimaces, and replies, a little too sharply: "'Nothing happened, Jack! Not a damn thing happened. It's- I'm... gonna be fine."

And it strikes Jack that this is the first time he's ever seen Bitty like this. Jack knows all about bad days. There are the days when he feels like everyone is looking at him funny. Or the days when his skin feels itchy and too tight and it's a chore to get out of bed and face the world. Sure, Bitty can get annoyed (the occasion when Holster 'borrowed' all of his baking sheets for use on an ice-slide last November springs to mind). But this feels different. Bitty seems upset and defeated and Jack hates it. He's never really thought of it in so many words, but part of him has grown to rely on Bitty to be the sunshine and cheer in this house. He knows that's selfish; knows that no one is happy all the time and god knows nobody is entitled to ask that of anyone. But somehow, at some point over the last months or years, the sight of Bitty smiling has become important to Jack. The knowledge that he’ll be able to see Bitty’s round cheerful face is sometimes enough to propel Jack out of bed on the bad days, to keep him facing the world when all he wants to do is fade out of sight. And it's wrong, he knows it's wrong. He can't rely on someone else like that. It's not fair. 

The sight of Bitty being upset is making Jack's anxiety quietly seethe. He wants to wrap himself around Bitty, to use his body to shield him from whatever it is that has wiped his smile away. He wants to feel Bitty's breath, calm and even against his skin. He wants Bitty's quiet laughter in his ear, the odd little gasping chuckle that he seems to reserve for Jack alone.

And it's not as if he can say these things. It would be weird. Jack's too big and he's intense and clumsy and he can never quite fit the words together. He looks helplessly into the depths of Bitty’s eyes, wishing there was some way he didn't need to use words. Bitty half-smiles at him then, a small twitch at the corner of his mouth. His left hand is still cradled in Jack's, the ice in the dishtowel slowly melting and dripping onto the floor. Jack's eyes follow Bitty's right hand, watches it move at almost glacial speed from where it rests on his denim-covered thigh, drifting through the smoke tinged air and coming to rest on Jack's wrist. His palm is hot and dry, and Jack is staring at their joined hands when Bitty sighs and leans forward until his forehead is pressed into Jack's shoulder. 

"Just... just sometimes I can't stop myself thinking about how this isn't going to be forever." Bittle says quietly, a little muffled by Jack's sweatshirt. "That come Summer, I'll be back in Georgia and you'll be training with whatever team you sign with and Shitty'll be getting ready for Harvard. And come Fall, I'll be back here in the Haus. But you won't be." He takes a long, measured lungful of air; inhaling against Jack's shoulder. "And I know it's dumb and needy, you don't need to tell me that," he adds a little angrily.

Jack's chest is hollow and somehow full of hurt at the same time. Bittle isn't crying; he's just leaning deep into Jack and seems to be breathing him in, as if he thinks it's the last time they'll touch. And Jack can't contradict him, at least not about the first part. Because he's been busily pushing that same knowledge away, he's been trying his hardest to ignore the feeling that it's the end of an era. Life in the Haus with his team mates over the last few years has been sweet, despite the noise and mess and the occasional claustrophobia of living on top of each other. It's been a home, the place where he's been able to breathe easiest. And Eric Bittle somehow became the heart of that home, despite Jack's initial unkindness and impatience towards him. Bittle moved in with his barely touched textbooks and meticulously arranged kitchenware and every room somehow felt more like home when he was in it. Or even when he wasn't. Even when he just left his sweater draped on the back of a chair or a cooling pie on the kitchen counter next to a post-it telling everyone to 'Dig in, y'all! :)'. 

It never occurred to Jack that perhaps this is Bitty's first home too. And that it's about more than the four walls; that it's about the team. That it might be, in some small undefinable way, about him. 

"It's not dumb." he says quietly. "And you're not needy, Bits. I get it. I do. I'm... I'm going to miss this place."

_You. I'm going to miss you._

And it's too late by far, he knows that. If, occasionally, he read something into a glance that Bitty threw his way; if once in a while Jack wondered why Bitty leant against his shoulder on the bench... well. He was never sure. He was never good at reading these things. And even if he was, the time was never right. It would have been bad for the team. He was too old for Bitty. And now it was too late, anyhow. Like Bitty just pointed out, he's going to be gone in a matter of months. And Jack knows, deep in his bones: Bitty deserves someone better than him. He deserves someone strong and good and who knows how to make him happy. If Jack knew how to do that, Bitty wouldn't be sitting miserably on the kitchen floor surrounded by the wreckage of a burnt pie, ice melting all over them both.

Jack carefully lifts his hand from on top of the sodden dishtowel, feeling Bitty's hand tighten on his wrist before letting go. Bitty seems to think that Jack is going to back away, and he raises his head with a sad smile; meeting Jack's gaze a little ruefully. 

"There's nothing that can change this situation, Jack. And I've been doing my best to accept it. I guess it's just harder some days than others."

"Can I-" Jack blurts, feeling a weird ripple of panic when he sees Bittle drawing away. "I mean, could I-?"

Bitty stares at him, a little confused until he sees how Jack is leaning forwards slightly, his arm outstretched a fraction. His mouth parts slightly, and his huge brown eyes suddenly shine a little too brightly when he reads… whatever it is… in Jack’s face. 

"Oh, Jack- you never need to ask me that." Bitty whispers, and reaches up to curl his arms around Jack's neck. 

The world goes quiet. 

Jack stays still for a long moment, as he takes in the feeling, the uncomplicated rightness of Bitty’s chest against his own; the weight and pressure of Bitty’s arms on Jack’s shoulders. The warmth of him, the motion of his breathing and the brush of his mussed hair against Jack’s ear as Bitty presses his face into his neck. Jack raises his own arms slowly, marvelling at how far round Bitty’s torso they go. Between his shoulder blades, he can feel the dampness of the icepack that Bitty still clutches in his left hand. Bitty is compact and warm in Jack’s arms. He just _fits_. He smells of spices and clean skin and fabric softener and the faintest hint of fresh sweat. Jack allows himself to relax, to soften into the embrace. He can have this, if only for a minute or two. He can try to let himself live in this moment; to forget about what’s coming in an hour, a day, in six months. He can just breathe with Bitty, focussing on the heat and lithe weight of his body and the humid warmth of his breath against Jack’s neck. 

Bitty has a handful of Jack’s sweatshirt in his uninjured hand and he’s holding it tightly. Jack can feel the fabric stretched taut around his chest, and he absently wonders if perhaps this is what is making it difficult for him to breathe. His world has condensed to this tiny pocket of space, to the circle of Bitty’s arms and the welcome pressure of his body as he kneels up between Jack’s spread thighs on the scarred old linoleum. 

“Sorry. I’m dripping water all over your back.” Bitty whispers, without moving. 

“I don’t care.” Jack says helplessly, and somehow his hand has ended up at the back of Bitty’s neck, his fingers exploring the tender bare skin of his nape, the blunt softness of his close-cropped hair. 

“Does it hurt?”

“Not any more. Not right now,” Bitty tells him and all Jack can do is hold him tighter, willing this moment never to end. He can’t remember the last time he was held like this. Maybe it’s the first time.

“What kind of pie was it?”

“Um…” Bitty huffs a tiny, surprised laugh into the skin just below Jacks ear and it makes him close his eyes at the sensation. “Apple and rhubarb. With galangal. I put cinnamon sugar in the crust.”

Bitty’s voice is quiet and unmistakeably fond, his accent a little more pronounced than usual. He turns his head so that he can peer up at the side of Jack’s face, his ear pressed against Jack’s shoulder.

“Sounds exotic.” Jack murmurs, feeling the moment morphing into something a bit different, something easier and softer. He can feel Bitty breathing a little easier.

“I was listening to a podcast about fusion food and I just liked the sound of it.”

“What was the middle ingredient again?” Jack asks. He knows what galangal is, he just wants to hear Bitty say the word again; drawing out the vowels, dragging out the final ‘a’. His voice as smooth and warm as early honey. 

“Galangal. It’s a root. Kinda like ginger. It’s real fresh tasting, but sort of… hot.” Bitty’s trails off, and Jack feels rather than sees the blush in his cheeks. 

“Sorry I didn’t get to try it.” Jack says slowly, his fingers coming to a halt at the back of Bitty’s neck. 

And this is where the moment can go one of two ways. 

One where Bitty gives him a final, fond squeeze before getting to his feet and goes in search of a broom and a mop, avoiding his gaze for a minute after the distinctly un-bro like encounter on the kitchen floor. Jack will help him clean up and will eventually manage to chirp him over the mess. They won’t mention it again.  
Or perhaps…

Maybe this is the moment where Bitty pulls back a tiny fraction, just far enough to look into Jack’s wary eyes before he presses his uninjured palm to his cheek. And he sees the conflict and the longing in Jack’s face, he sees the want and the apology and yes, _of course_ he sees the love there. Because Jack is many things, but he’s not subtle. There are only so many things he can hide. And he doesn’t want to any more. He doesn’t care if it’s selfish; he doesn’t care that they have no idea what the next months will bring. He’s gotten so good at denying himself the things that he craves that he’s almost forgotten how to give in to temptation. 

So Bitty does it for him, slowly, a little hesitantly. He leans forward so that their foreheads press together and Jack’s eyes close as they share a long breath, the length of an unhurried heartbeat. Bitty’s fingertips trace the line of his cheekbone, the heel of his palm resting against the corner of his mouth. Jack’s mouth softens as it meets Bitty’s lips, and Bitty breathes a small sweet sound into him. His spine undulates slowly, arching as he presses himself closer into Jack, his lips slick and warm as they move together. And Jack can feel so much tenderness, so much affection in the way that Bitty kisses him that his eyes are suddenly wet and he doesn’t deserve this. This isn’t meant to be his. 

He still can’t stop.

His hand has slipped a little further down the nape of Bitty’s neck, his fingers delving inside the collar of his flannel shirt to touch the smooth skin between Bitty’s shoulder blades, feeling the movement of fine bones under sleek muscle. Bitty’s tongue slowly touches Jack’s lower lip, teasing and tracing the narrow line of his mouth before Jack helplessly lets him in. He slides his own tongue over Bitty’s, feeling the shudder that ripples down his back. He’s making soft inarticulate noises as Bitty kisses him, he can’t help it; he’s never been kissed like this before and it’s breaking his heart. 

Bitty kisses him slow and deep, his mouth moving gently against Jack’s; his hand is so careful on Jack’s face. He has dropped the melting ice on the floor and his burnt hand lies curled on Jack’s shoulder; the back of his fingers stroking the side of his neck. Jack’s heart is tight in his chest and he realises that he feels cherished; that despite the heat of Bitty’s mouth he feels safer than he has done in years. 

He’s worked so hard to push the wanting away and somehow giving in to it has freed him. 

Bitty’s melting into him, he’s curling into the spaces left by Jack’s body as if he’s been waiting years for this chance. And Jack wonders a little wildly, maybe he has; maybe Bitty’s been craving and denying himself just as long as Jack has. 

He pulls back just a little, his breath hitching as Bitty’s eyes open and meet his, dreamy and wide, his pupils dilated. “Oh god, Bitty- I’m sorry-“

“Don’t you dare, Jack-“ Bitty whispers, his voice low and fierce. Both of his hands knot in Jack’s shirt. “Don’t you dare apologise for kissing me. I don’t… I don’t know what’s going to happen next. I don’t know what you want. But if you regret kissing me-“

Jack shakes his head. “No, _no_ , Bits. I- I’m sorry this took so long. I mean- you knew, right? You knew how I felt, didn’t you? I just wish-“

Bitty blinks, his deep brown eyes wide and a little pained. Impulsively, Jack presses his lips to his freckled cheekbone and is rewarded with a flicker of a smile and a sigh. 

“I- I guess sometimes I hoped?” Bitty replies eventually, his words halting. He swallows hard and bites his lip. “I suppose I never felt like I could be sure. And I figured that even if maybe you did like me a little, you didn’t want to get involved with anyone; that you didn’t want that kind of… distraction, I guess?”

And that’s true, Jack supposes. It’s been too dangerous, too complicated, too risky to get involved with anyone while the NHL looms on the horizon. He’s got a routine that works, he’s got good friends and he’s got hockey and his studies. He’s careful about exercising and eating and sleeping and all of these things help him stay level, stay calm and focussed. There’s been no one really, no one since Kent and even now Jack can’t really think about him without wincing a little. He did go on a handful of dates with Camilla but they never really got anywhere beyond a few awkward kisses and eventually she’d gently backed off and all he’d been able to feel was a kind of mournful relief. What had that looked like to Bitty? That he doesn’t need to date or have sex or fall in love, because it’s too difficult? That he just doesn’t care enough about other people? That he’s some kind of repressed closet case? 

Maybe all of those things are true, just a little. 

It’s the kindness in Bitty’s eyes that makes his racing pulse quiet a little. It’s the warm pressure of his hands on Jack that calms his breathing. 

“Jack sweetheart, the hockey robot act doesn’t work on people who actually know you.” Bitty tells him gently. His smile is small, and a little teasing. “Come on now. I know you feel stuff, you’re just kinda crappy at talking about it. Right?”

The thoughtless endearment makes Jack’s heart skitter, just a little. 

“I-“ he closes his eyes and shakes his head a fraction. His voice is hoarser than it should be. “I- I’ve felt like this about you for… a while. But I’m…I mean it’s complicated. If you want me…”

“Jack Laurent Zimmermann, oh my god…” Bitty half-laughs. “That’s one thing you never have to doubt.”

Jack’s fingers tighten, still holding tight to the collar of Bitty’s green flannel shirt. “I mean… I can’t give you everything you deserve. And I want to, Bitty. I want to give you _everything_ but I can’t-“

“You mean you’re not going to propose to me now?” Bitty murmurs, a tiny smile curling the corner of his mouth. Jack snorts quietly, his fingers smoothing the soft green cotton; trying to undo the damage he’s done to the well-ironed collar. 

Bitty releases his handful of Jack’s sweatshirt and he reaches up to press his unburnt hand to his cheek. “Jack, come on now. Despite what my grades sometimes suggest, I am not stupid. I know what your priorities are. I know you’re not going to be here much longer; and I won’t lie, no matter what happens between us I’m going to be sad when you go. That’s always been true. But I’m tired of hiding how I feel about you; and if you feel the same way it’s gonna break my heart if we miss a chance we could have taken.” 

“I… I want that.” Jack says, eventually. He can feel a tear pooling in the corner of his left eye and he flushes with embarrassment. Bitty waits patiently until Jack is able to look him in the face again, and the naked affection in his eyes makes Jack feel unaccountably shy. He reaches up and covers Bitty’s hand with his own, pressing it against his cheek. He feels Bitty’s thumb sweep through the tear, smoothing it away slowly. “But, you need to know-“

“That we’ve got to keep it quiet. Jack, I _know_. You don’t need that kind of scrutiny, not when you’re about to sign. I do know that.” Bitty quirks a small, slightly bittersweet smile. “Believe it or not, I know a thing or two about being discreet.” 

“But it’s not fair. You deserve more,” Jack says helplessly. “You deserve better-“

“How about you let me worry about what I deserve, Jack?” Bitty smiles a little wider. “Not everything is on you, ok? I do get some kind of choice in the matter, Mister. I know this ain’t straightforward. It’s not perfect. But if it means that I get to have you, even if it’s only for a few months… then it’s worth it.” he mock-glares at Jack. “And don’t you _dare_ ask me if I’m sure.”

Jack closes his eyes again, feeling the steady pressure of Bitty’s hand on his face. A moment later, he senses Bitty moving closer again, the ghost of his breath on Jack’s mouth. _I love you,_ he thinks. _I love you. I love you._

The Haus is silent again, the smoke clearing and stealing out of the kitchen window. Shadows lengthen and the remains of the pie lie undisturbed, streaked across the cracked linoleum floor. Jack Zimmermann has never been kissed like this before, he’s never been touched by hands like these; sure and gentle. Bitty doesn’t seem so small anymore. When he breaks away and smiles at Jack he seems to glow, just a little. He’s lying on his back on the floor, looking up at Jack and there’s some sticky pie filling in his hair and smeared across his shoulder that he doesn’t seem to care about, not one bit. Jack lies on his side next to him, propped up on one elbow and he reaches out to brush some burnt pastry crumbs from Bitty’s arm. 

“I know what galangal is. I just wanted to hear you say it.” Jack says, for no reason at all. He feels strangely light, lighter than he has in months. “I like how it sounds.” 

Bitty glares at him, his arms folding across his chest. “You know, chirping a boy about his accent is not the best way to seduce him, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack laughs and presses another kiss to Bitty’s pouting mouth. “I love your accent. I love it when you don’t try and hide it.”

“Shut up.” Bitty mumbles, colour rising to his cheeks. “Shut up and get down here and kiss me again.”

Jack is already halfway there, half-drunk with the fact that he can do this; that he’s suddenly allowed to kiss Eric Bittle. That Bitty wants him, that Bitty accepts what Jack can give him even if it’s nowhere near enough. Bitty’s mouth opens eagerly beneath his and Jack tangles their tongues together, slow and deep. His hand rests on Bitty’s narrow waist, and he’s achingly aware of the sliver of bare skin there; the hem of his flannel shirt and undershirt dragged up as they slid together onto the floor. He’s carefully not moving his fingers, he doesn’t know how Bitty will react. He doesn’t think he could bear it if Bitty decided to pull away, if he decides Jack’s going too fast. Heaven knows, Eric Bittle has never seemed prudish or shy but Jack has actually no idea how much experience he’d had before now. There’s always been a kind of indefinable innocence about him that Jack can’t quite put his finger on. 

Bitty’s been out since freshman year, but Jack’s never been aware of him dating or even just casually hooking up with someone after a kegster. He made out with Shitty once during a particularly interesting game of Spin the Bottle last Spring, but then practically everyone’s kissed Shitty at some point, it’s practically a rite of passage for residents of the Haus. When Bitty had said the word _seduce_ so carelessly in his sweet, snarky drawl it made Jack’s stomach clench with something dark and dangerous. The narrow slice of warm bare skin begs to be explored and it’s taking considerable will power for Jack not to slowly slide the hem of Bitty’s shirt up over his lean stomach, over his pecs and leave it bunched beneath his arms while Jack presses his mouth to every inch of skin he can find. He wants to lick and suck and smell every inch of him. He wants to feel the pull of Bitty’s skin between his teeth, feel the texture under his lips. 

He’s seen Bitty naked before, of course he has: in the locker room and the showers after games. But Jack has a lot of practice in turning away, of not letting his glance linger. Until now, it always seemed like an act of self-preservation. 

“Jack, honey.” Bitty’s voice is slow and warm, and just a little breathless. “You need a minute?”

Jack hadn’t realised that he’s gone still, focussing only on the smooth skin beneath his fingers. His eyes are closed and he’s sharing breath with Bitty, leaning close with their foreheads together. Bitty’s fingers are in his hair, gently dragging across his scalp and he shudders slightly at the delicate friction. 

“Um. No, I just- I started thinking about something.”

“Well I hope you’re not getting distracted so soon,” Bitty replies, his face flushed and so honestly, transparently happy that it makes Jack’s mouth curve into an unconscious answering smile. Bitty bites his slightly swollen lower lip, and his gaze while still sweet darkens a little. He lifts one leg and hooks it around Jack’s thigh, pulling him closer. “’Cause I’ve got a _lot_ of ideas about what we could do next.”

“Tell me.” Jack murmurs, sinking into Bitty’s embrace. He tries not to rest all his weight on Bitty; but it’s difficult, especially when his hands want to do nothing but explore and trace the contours of him. Bitty reddens, and his fair lashes sweep down to his cheeks. He licks his lower lip. 

“Um. Oh my god, Jack…” he lets out a long shaky breath as Jack presses his mouth to the hollow below his ear. Bitty’s fingers tighten convulsively in his hair. “Just… everything. _Everything_.”

“Details, Bits.”

“Oh my- oh, _Jack!_. Um. Less clothes. A lot less of them. And not here.” Bitty lets out a small, gasping chuckle that makes Jack’s heart clench almost painfully. “I don’t want any unexpected frogs to wander in expecting pie and getting traumatised instead.”

“You sure?” Jack asks, before he can stop himself. Because this kind of thing just doesn’t happen; ten minutes ago he had been living in a world where Bitty merely smiled at him and patted his arm from time to time. He’s still reeling at the fact that Bitty is glowing up at him on the floor, crumb-strewn and warm and unmistakably provocative. Jack’s been carefully avoiding anything below the waist but he can’t ignore the way that Bitty’s hitching his thigh higher up along Jack’s hip. He really, _really_ can’t ignore the hardness that is suddenly pressing into the top of his thigh. Bitty’s gaze is meaningful; fond, heated and perhaps a tiny bit exasperated. 

“Oh for crying out loud, Mr. Zimmermann! Do I seem like I’m unsure?” he slyly runs his hand down Jack’s side, letting his palm run around into the small of his back. The tips of his fingers slide just a fraction into the waistband of Jack’s jeans, and just the small pressure of Bitty’s narrow fingertips there, pressed against the bare skin under the waistband of his underwear causes Jack to inhale sharply. Bitty’s eyes widen at his reaction, before he pushes his hand just a little further down the back of Jack’s jeans; digging his fingertips just a fraction into the flesh of his ass. The instinctive roll of Jack’s hips leaves both of them gasping, and Bitty giggles weakly into Jack’s neck. 

“Come on, honey. Take me upstairs.” Bitty orders him, his voice low and warm. “We’re not going to get the place to ourselves for much longer.”

Jack kisses him, fast and deep, before rolling onto his feet and standing up. He pulls Bitty up after him, carefully reaching for his uninjured hand. 

“We should bandage that up first,” he says, taking hold of Bitty’s forearm and taking another look at the wide reddened stripe across his left palm and fingers.

“Later!” Bitty says impatiently, tugging on Jack’s shirt and attempting to tow him out of the kitchen. Jack laughs helplessly at the trademark Bittle pushiness but allows himself to be hustled out of the still smoke-tinged room; not before snagging the first-aid kit from above the sink. Bitty doesn’t let go of the front of Jack’s shirt all the way upstairs, padding swiftly and almost silently on his socked feet. Jack can’t take his eyes off him, the way his crumpled shirt fits his shoulders; the tousled cowlicks of his corn-coloured hair. The way his hips move as he climbs the stairs, each step neat, measured… and yet unmistakably sensual, the curve of his ass filling out his jeans in a way that suddenly seems frankly indecent. The tender, naked skin at the nape of his neck; oddly bare above the twisted shirt collar. Jack wants to do all manner of things to him; things that he’ll never admit. He wants Bitty in a way that’s visceral and intense; he wants to know every inch of that compact body. He wants to spend _years_ exploring Eric Bittle’s body and getting to know the thoughts that populate his mind. 

He doesn’t understand it; he never has. He’s never felt this way about anyone before. He didn’t think he was capable of it for the longest time.

Bitty pulls him along the corridor, carefully sidestepping over a discarded game of Operation! and a battered traffic-cone that somehow appeared in the Haus overnight. They head towards Bitty’s room, and Jack is thankful that Bitty has taken that decision away from him. He knows he’d only start worrying that his room isn’t welcoming or comfortable or clean enough. Does Bitty have condoms? Do they need condoms? Lube? Maybe Bitty has some. He’s pretty sure that they’re not going to be diving straight into penetrative sex right away but maybe Bitty has other ideas? He’s certainly thought about it before; would Bitty want Jack to fuck him? Jack’s fantasized about Bitty inside him more than once. He showered this morning, but maybe he should go clean up again? Brush his teeth again? Did he put on deodorant today?

“Jack?” Bitty’s let go of his shirt so that he can close the door behind them, turning the key in the lock. His room is warm and reasonably neat; the deep blue sheets and comforter on his bed are pulled up crisply. Jack can see the edge of Senor Bun’s ear poking out from underneath the striped pillow and it causes a strange, sudden rush of fondness towards the boy in front of him, briefly cutting through the swirl of his thoughts. Bitty is standing close to him, his hand reaching out a little tentatively to cup his elbow. 

“Yeah?” he smiles down at Bitty, who seems to relax slightly. 

“Um. Sorry, I thought I lost you for a moment there.” Bitty grimaces slightly and hunches one of his shoulders a little awkwardly. “I guess now I want to be sure that _you_ want this?”

“I-“ Jack swallows hard, and forces himself to take a deep breath. He’s not panicking, not per se. His pulse is elevated, he’s sweating a little; but he’s mainly caught up in the unexpected way this has gone. The sudden, powerful desire he feels. His yearning for Bitty has always been slightly abstract; he’s never believed that anything would ever actually happen between them. “I’m kind of…nervous.” he admits, hating himself a little. 

“Oh, honey-“ Bitty murmurs, stepping a little further into his space and tightening his grip on Jack’s arm. He gives Jack a small, slightly unsteady smile. “You’re not the only one. You should feel my heart.”

“Could I- could I maybe take care of your hand first?” Jack asks, in a rush. “I’m just going to keep worrying about it otherwise.”

Bitty’s smile melts into something sweeter, wider. “Yeah, okay. Come sit down over here and patch me up.”

Jack sits down on the edge of the bed, on the corner of comforter that Bitty pats. He sets about wiping the burn on Bitty’s hand with an antibacterial wipe and applies some burn salve, the straightforward method of it calming him slightly. Bitty is silent, his small hand lying still in Jack’s fingers. He doesn’t look up when he asks: “Jack? Can I ask you something?”

Jack’s been expecting this, and he forces himself to keep bandaging Bitty’s hand as he nods. 

“And you don’t need to answer, not if you don’t want to.” Bitty says, quickly. “Feel free to tell me to mind my own business. But. Um.”

“I’m not a virgin.” Jack says, his tone dull. 

“Not what I was going to ask.” Bitty replies levelly. He nudges Jack’s knee affectionately with his own. “And I don’t care about that one way or the other. If it matters to you, I fooled around a little here and there with another counsellor at camp last summer, but nothing serious. And besides, do I really need to repeat Shitty’s epic lecture about how virginity is nothing but a social construct to you?”

His tone is teasing, but the fondness is clear as a bell. “What I want to know is, um- your thoughts. Do they get in the way?”

Jack takes a long moment to consider as he finishes bandaging Bitty’s hand. He doesn’t look up as he thinks, trying his best to find the words. 

“Um.” he pauses, feeling the weight of Bitty’s gaze on the side of his face. He slides the first-aid kit onto the floor, keeping Bitty’s hand resting in his own. “Yes. Kind of- I mean, this is sort of new to me in a way. It’s just… this is the first time I’ve been in this kind of situation when…” 

“Ohh…” Bitty nods, as Jack trails off and his face flushes shamefully. “Oh, I see.”

“It’s just- it was kind of different when I was with him. With Parse. Because back then I was taking a lot of meds, and some other stuff. We were usually drinking beforehand and that kind of blurred things a little. Or numbed them. And that made it easier, I guess? No, not easier – I don’t mean that. Less complicated? No-“

“It probably stopped your mind wandering so much? I get it.” Bitty says, softly. “I was watching you when we came in here. You sort of drifted a little. I guessed that maybe you started thinking about us having sex, and all the other questions and situations that could arise from that and it just sort of snowballed, huh?”

Jack is quietly floored by Bitty’s words. He’s embarrassed, but he’s beyond grateful that he didn’t have to dig them up himself. He nods.

Bitty grins, reaching out to place his other hand on Jack’s knee. He waits until Jack slowly returns the smile, and asks: “Would it help if you knew in advance what was on the menu?” 

“I don’t know. I think so. Probably?” Jack responds, and feels himself relax a little more as Bitty leans against his shoulder. He stares down at Bitty’s tousled fair hair, and on a whim he presses his face against the top of his head, inhaling the scent of his shampoo and a faint trace of burnt pie. _Oh god. Bitty. This is never going to be enough, not even if we never leave this room for the next three months._ His desire is a strange thing, seething through with his relief and the affection he feels for this boy, and sharpened with the knowledge that time is not on their side. 

“Well…” he hears the smile in Bitty’s, voice, his tone bold yet a little bashful. “Could we take off our clothes? And lie down? I, um-“ he gives a small chuckle. “-sorry. I’m not used to talking like this. I’d really like it if I could blow you?”

Jack is utterly still, his heart pounding. He can feel a single drop of sweat inching down between his shoulder blades. He nods slowly, and Bitty’s face is like the morning sun in winter when he looks up into Jack’s face. He can’t help himself, can’t stop his hands moving to Bitty’s shoulders and bending to kiss his flushed lips. Bitty’s smiling as Jack kisses him, taking a long moment to open his mouth and to run his tongue across Jack’s. He’s warm, soft and yielding under Jack’s mouth and Jack can feel his desire returning in a rush. He’s getting hard again, he’s aching to be touched. 

“Can I do that to you too?” Jack asks, when he manages to recover his English. He’s panting slightly. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Bitty chirps him, laughing a little breathlessly. “That doesn’t sound so bad.” 

“I haven’t been with anyone since him,” Jack forces himself to say. “We- I mean, I’m clean. I was tested, after.”

Bitty nods. “I’ve never really gotten to the point where I needed to be,” he says matter-of-factly. 

Jack pulls him into his lap, running his palms along the lengths of Bitty’s strong thighs and taking hold of his narrow hips; pulling him close. Bitty grins down at him, sliding his fingers into the hair at the back of Jack’s neck and scratches gently. This simple sensation makes something inside Jack almost _purr_ and he arches his back, pressing harder against Bitty. 

“I like this. Feeling taller than you for once.” Bitty murmurs, dropping a kiss onto Jack’s temple, then another next to the corner of his eye. He slowly rolls his hips under Jack’s hands, pressing the front of his straining jeans against Jack’s obvious erection; his wide brown eyes flickering shut. His moan is quiet and breathy, and it makes Jack’s fingers tighten sharply on his hips. The sensation of grinding against Bitty is stunning, he’s confined, the friction intense and almost unbearable. He doesn’t want it to end. Rushes of desire are surging through him, his skin prickling and he can almost feel the blood surging to his groin. 

It’s more intense, it’s already more intimate than anything he and Parse did back in those slightly cloudy, secretive days. A part of Jack wonders if this might just be because it’s the middle of the day and he’s totally sober and he’s merely experiencing sex without a filter; maybe sex is like this for everyone else all the time. He glances up at Bitty through his eyelashes, taking in Bitty’s maddening mouth; watching his teeth sinking into his soft lower lip as he grinds against Jack. The light filtering through the window behind Jack is hazy, diffuse and it catches the gold in Bitty’s hair. Jack can feel Bitty’s breath against his forehead and he’s so achingly beautiful, undone like this. It feels like he’s seeing him for the first time. 

No. It’s not just the absence of chemicals or alcohol. It’s Bitty. It’s the two of them together. It’s the knowledge that he’s wanted, that Bitty cares about him; that this is something that neither of them will be embarrassed about or ashamed of tomorrow. Bitty may not be in love with him; but he would never intend to hurt Jack. Because Bitty is kind, kind down to his bones in a way that Jack isn’t, but can appreciate with a kind of awe.

“You still with me, sweetheart?” Bitty whispers into Jack’s hair. 

Jack nods wordlessly, letting his hands drift into the small of Bitty’s back and exploring the bare skin there; letting his fingertips trail along the base of his spine before running one hand down onto his ass. His handspan almost covers all of Bitty’s backside and he _squeezes_ before he can help himself. Bitty gasps at the firm pressure and lets out a breathy chuckle. 

“Oh my _god_ I have waited the longest time to feel you do that!” he grabs a handful of Jack’s hair and tilts his head back so that he can lick his way into Jack’s mouth, sweet and filthy. He pulls away a moment later, leaning back a little and Jack almost moans at the loss of Bitty’s mouth and the pressure of his hard cock. He watches the boy begin to unfasten his creased flannel shirt, his slender fingers easing each button out of the narrow holes. He tosses it on the floor and with a swift smooth movement, he pulls his undershirt over his head; the arch of his arms and the movement of his sculpted shoulders causing his muscles to shift and flex. It makes Jack’s mouth go dry. 

He reaches out without thought, tracing his fingertips down Bitty’s chest; exploring the almost invisible wisps of tawny hair before sliding down to the absolute beauty of his abs, feeling each curve and indentation under the smooth faded gold of Bitty’s skin. His nipples are dusky pink, hardening visibly under Jack’s gaze. He leans forward to curl his tongue around one. Bitty buries his hand in Jack’s hair, pressing him harder until he uses his teeth on the tender skin. Bitty makes a soft, insistent sound in the back of his throat and it makes Jack’s aching cock throb, feeling his underwear damp against the head. 

“I need you to touch me.” Bitty whispers, his back arching. “Jack, please-“

Jack flicks his tongue against Bitty’s nipple one last time, leaving it wet and a little swollen as he pulls away. Despite his persistent erection, he thinks he could have kept doing that; listening to the sounds he drew from Bitty, all afternoon. 

Bitty slides off Jack’s lap, coming to stand in front of him as he unzips his snug jeans. Jack’s heart speeds up ridiculously as he watches Bitty slip the fabric down over his hips, revealing close fitting deep blue boxer briefs that are visibly darker over the point of his straining cock. He gives Jack an almost bashful smile as their eyes meet and Jack’s hands are already reaching for him when he shakes his head. 

“Do I have to be the only naked one?” Bitty asks, toeing off his socks nonchalantly.

Jack suddenly feels the weight of his clothes on his body, he’s too hot and they’re too tight and god all he wants is to feel the length of Bitty’s body pressed languid and warm against his own bare flesh. He pulls his sweatshirt over his head quickly, ungracefully and unzips himself with slightly unsteady fingers. Bitty watches him, lips parted, before sinking to his knees and pulling Jack’s jeans the rest of the way off. Jack knows in an abstract way that he’s got a good body; but he mainly thinks of it as something he maintains, a tool that he uses to play his best and to maintain his equilibrium. 

It’s been so long since he entertained the idea of it being alluring or exciting for someone else to look at that he suddenly feels slightly shy. Bitty’s seen him naked before, all his team mates have. But the way that Bitty is looking at him now, with frank curiosity and clear hunger almost makes him want to cover himself, to hide. He clenches his fists on the edge of the bed and forces himself to look into Bitty’s half-shut eyes. He takes a deep breath. 

“My, but you’re beautiful…” Bitty blurts, and blushes a little deeper. Jack huffs a laugh, and shakes his head incredulously. That’s not a word he’s ever associated with himself. Maybe kind of handsome on a good day; but he’s too big, too awkward, too hulking to ever contemplate the notion of _beautiful_. But he doesn’t contradict Bitty when he sees the look on his face. Because although Jack might never believe that about himself, right now he doesn’t recognise a lie or empty flattery. Bitty thinks he’s beautiful and the mere fact of that is overwhelming.

He feels Bitty’s bandaged palm against his cheek, and he leans into it; wordlessly pressing a kiss against his wrist. Bitty kisses his cheek and then his mouth, oddly chaste and beyond sweet as he kneels up between Jack’s thighs. He slips one hand down Jacks stomach, humming admiringly as he caresses the muscles there before he gently traces the length of his erection with his middle and index fingers. The breath that Jack takes is audible, the subtle pressure of Bitty’s touch through his underwear suddenly too much and not nearly enough all at once. Bitty strokes him long and slow for a torturous few seconds before hooking his index finger into the waistband of Jack’s boxers. 

“Mind taking these off?” Bitty’s probably aiming for cheerful cockiness, but Jack can read the hint of nervousness in the corners of his smile. Bitty’s sure about this; but Jack’s suddenly convinced that whatever his previous experiences may be, Bitty’s never actually done this before. He wants to reassure Bitty, he wants him to know that he doesn’t care what he does; that the only thing that matters is that it’s _him_ ; it’s Bitty’s hands and Bitty’s mouth that will be touching him and that will always be more than enough, more than he deserves, more than he ever thought he’d experience. 

He can never find the words. He lifts his hips off the bed, letting Bitty pull at the cotton on either side until his boxers slide down his thighs, catching momentarily on his swollen cock. He watches Bitty’s tongue wet his lower lip in what seems to be an unconscious movement, and he glances up at Jack with a sudden edge of fun in his wide brown eyes. 

“My, my, Mr. Zimmermann.”

And with that, he ducks his head; mouth open as he bends towards Jack’s crotch. Jack barely has time to breathe before he’s enveloped in wet heat, Bitty’s clever fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. 

“Oh my god, Bits-“ he’s moaning, moaning so loud that he’s distantly a little shocked at himself, at the way he slips back onto the bed, his hands covering his face. Bitty’s _licking_ him, lapping at the length of Jack’s cock and the wet flickering pressure is _destroying_ him; the firm strokes of his hand stoking the flames of his arousal. He can feel Bitty’s plush lips stretched around him, taking him in as deep as he can before he chokes a little and coughs. 

“Um. Sorry.” Bitty half laughs, breathless. “That was a little ambitious.”

“You’re amazing.” Jack says honestly, the only words he can find. “You are so amazing at this, Bits.”

“I like it when you call me that.” Bitty smiles, and it’s dark and sweet despite the fact that he’s still stroking Jack slowly with his uninjured hand. He lowers his head again and Jack watches, entranced as  
Bitty takes the head of his cock into his mouth, sliding and swirling the tip of his tongue around the glans. Bitty sucks him maddeningly slowly, teasing Jack until he’s jerking helplessly on the bed, his fingers knotted in the sheets and his body is glazed with sweat. He’s ablaze with the feelings that Bitty’s unleashed in him, he’s reduced to sensation and want and it’s a little terrifying but he doesn’t care. He feels like he’s been let loose, he’s _flying_ and as he gives into the wave of his building climax he’s gasping, his face is wet and he barely recognises the long, almost pained noises he’s making. His eyes are tight shut, and he can feel Bitty stroking his thighs with long soothing motions as he comes down. Bitty murmurs soft, inarticulate sounds of comfort as he clambers up onto the bed and drapes himself across Jack’s body, wrapping his arms around him. 

“Jack, honey” Bitty whispers in his ear, pressing his mouth to Jack’s cheek. His hand is splayed across Jack’s chest and he can undoubtedly feel his hammering pulse. “You okay?”

Jack nods, his eyes still shut. He’s taking deep breaths and the surge of orgasm is still sparkling through him, he can feel it flickering across his skin and the languid, sticky dampness across his stomach and trailing between his thighs. He turns his head blindly to find Bitty’s mouth and he tastes himself, the slick metallic salt of his come on their tongues. Bitty wriggles briefly, and when he presses his body back against Jacks, it’s very clear that his underwear is gone. He can feel Bitty’s hard-on pressed into the crease of his groin, but there’s no sense of urgency here. Bitty’s rocking with slow, rhythmic thrusts against his slick skin as he kisses Jack, delving deep into his mouth and exploring him. The motion of his body and the way his spine undulates under Jack’s hands brings to mind other possibilities; other fantasies and his hips twitch unconsciously. 

“Do you want to fuck me?” Jack asks Bitty, running one hand down the length of his back and trailing two fingers daringly along the line of his ass. Bitty freezes momentarily and looks up at him, clearly surprised and a little guarded. 

“What?”

“I don’t mean right now.” Jack clarifies, after swallowing hard. “But sometime?”

“Oh my god…” Bitty closes his eyes and drops his face into the curve of Jack’s neck. He half-laughs quietly, and Jack can feel his cock twitching against his heated skin. “I was not expecting that. You sir, are a _menace._ ”

“Is that a yes?” Jack asks, his fingers trailing further along the crease of Bitty’s ass, reaching and dipping down to stroke his perineum and causing him to shudder gently. 

“It’s an oh-fuck-yes-please, Jack!” Bitty promises him, and writhes under his touch. “Oh god, keep doing that….”

Jack keeps exploring the warm taut skin between Bitty’s thighs, stroking and pressing as he feels Bitty shake against him; his hips moving in long swift thrusts as he grinds against Jack. It’s fascinating to see him like this, to be allowed to begin exploring the secret places of Bitty’s body.

“Can I still suck your cock?” he whispers, feeling Bitty’s movements stutter against him. 

“I don’t think you know what it’s like to hear these things coming from your mouth,” Bitty informs him, his eyes wide. “I’m never going to be able to listen to you giving instructions in practice again, I will spontaneously _combust!_ ” 

“Is that an oh-fuck-yes-please too?” Jack asks, politely. 

“Hush your dirty mouth and put it to use elsewhere, Mister.” Bitty instructs him, rolling off Jack and scooting back against the pillows. He’s giving Jack a mock-stern look right up until the point Jack comes to lie between his thighs, running his hands down Bitty’s shins and pushing his knees up and his legs wider apart. Bitty’s obscene like this, his surprisingly thick cock flushed and pink against his stomach; his balls full, tight and heavy amidst a patch of neatly trimmed fair hair. He can see the faint line of his seam leading down towards the furled skin of his tight hole. He’s spread open, and Jack’s mouth floods as he leans close to bury his face between Bitty’s thighs, inhaling his scent deeply. He can feel Bitty shaking and he glances up. Bitty is flushed all over, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of Jack preparing to take him in his mouth. 

Jack runs his tongue gently across Bitty’s balls, which are nestled tight against the base of his cock, blowing on the dampened skin and revelling in the high almost-whimper he elicits. He wants to take his time, to spent hours bringing Bitty close to the brink and drawing him back, just so that he can discover what makes him cry out and sigh and moan. He wants to suck bruises into the tender, secret skin of his inner thigh, he wants to bury his face in Bitty’s ass and flick his tongue against his hole until he sobs. He wants to taste every inch of his skin. But the way that Bitty is straining towards him, his lean hips bucking helplessly, makes it clear that now is not the time. 

Jack doesn’t look away as he opens his mouth and swallows Bitty down. It’s shockingly intimate and part of him wants to look away, he’s blushing as he feels the weight of Bitty’s cock against his tongue. Bitty sighs in a kind of agonized relief and he presses his hand across his own mouth, clearly trying to muffle the sounds he’s making. 

It’s been a long time since Jack has done this and he takes a moment to savour it, to take in the hot velvet smoothness and thickness of Bitty in his mouth. It’s strange and overpowering and he tries not to think too much about how stupidly lucky he is, tries to focus only on the physical sensation and excitement of being allowed to bring Bitty pleasure. Bitty’s so hard that he can’t be far away from coming, and Jack can taste the surges of his precome on his tongue. He traces the slit with the tip of his tongue, looking up at Bitty as he laps at the head before swallowing him down again; squeezing the base before beginning to stroke him in a steady rhythm. Bitty’s makes a soft wanton sound as Jack takes him apart, his hips jerking convulsively as Jack bends to suck, wet and messy at his tightening balls. When Jack dips lower to lick at the taut skin of Bitty’s perineum, his hand on Bitty’s cock, he cries out helplessly, hands flying away from his face to clutch at the pillow beneath his head. Jack can feel his own cock beginning to stir again already, just listening to him. 

It feels strange, empowering and weirdly humbling that he gets to see and hear Bitty like this, with all his defences dropped; unselfconscious and given over to the sensations that Jack is bringing him. It feels like a gift. Jack presses his lips to his thigh and takes him back into the slippery warmth of his mouth, thrills to the high-pitched gasp that Bitty makes in response. 

“Oh- Jack-!”

Bitty goes rigid under his mouth and hands, his back bowing so much that only his shoulders and ass are still touching the bed. His hands are clutching blindly at Jack’s shoulders as he climaxes, and the sound he makes is long, low and almost pained; flooding Jack’s mouth with slick warmth. 

They stay like that for long moments, Jack stroking Bitty’s stomach and thighs as Bitty slowly collapses back against the pillows; his breathing harsh and rapid. Jack lets his softening cock slip from between his swollen lips, and unthinkingly licks the trail of come that spills from the corner of his mouth.

Bitty’s chest is still heaving as he slumps back, boneless and languid. His eyes are still shut tight, and Jack inches forward between his spread legs and wraps himself around Bitty; curling himself around Bitty’s side and tangling their legs together. They’re sharing one pillow. Bitty’s feet only come as far as the middle of Jack’s shins and he presses his toes into Jack’s calves. Jack noses into the crook of Bitty’s warm damp neck, tasting the salt on his skin as he kisses him there. 

For once, Bitty seems lost for words. 

They lie there in silence, and Jack feels no need to try and fill it. He’s lost in the soft calm of the moment, of the dreamy warmth of their shared body heat, the long shadows of the room and the shifting grey skies visible through the window. His mind is slow and quiet.

“Jack?” Bitty murmurs, eventually. His dark eyes are half closed and hazy as he turns to him, coming to rest their foreheads together. 

“Mm?” 

Bitty gives him a small smile, the corner of his mouth curling up at one side. “That was… just…”

Jack tightens his arms around him, presses his lips to Bitty’s flushed cheek. “Yeah. I…” he trails off, and swallows. Barely audible, the words slip from his mouth. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

Bitty wraps his arms tight around Jack’s neck, pressing the side of his face against his cheek. He doesn’t say anything, just lets Jack feel the thrum of his heart and uneven breathing. He feels the wetness of Bitty’s tears, and his stomach lurches a little. 

“Sorry. I bet you didn’t think I’d be the kind of guy who cries afterwards, huh?” Bitty laughs quietly, through his tears. He swallows hard. “Just ignore me for a moment. I’m fine.”

“But you’re not,” Jack points out softly. “And I’m not, either. Bits…. I don’t want to leave you behind.”

“Well, it’s not like you have much choice in the matter.” Bitty sighs. “And the whole world is out there waiting for you. You’re going to be amazing with whoever you sign with, Jack. I know it.”

“Falconers.” Jack says, and although he’d nearly been sure this morning; he’s one hundred percent sure now. He doesn’t care how much money they finally offer him, or what sponsorship deals will come his way. He doesn’t even really care who he’s playing with. He wouldn’t even care if they’re bottom of the league. “It’s going to be the Falconers, Bits. I- okay, it’s not down the street but at least we won’t be a million miles apart.”

“Oh!” Bitty pulls back a little, so that he can look into Jack’s eyes. “Jack- you’re not… oh, lord. This is going to sound incredibly narcissistic, I mean they’re a great team and all, but you’re not just choosing them because they’re based in Providence, right? Not just because of… not because of _me_?”

Jack hesitates, opens his mouth to respond. He stops again. Because it’s on the tip of his tongue to say: Yes, yes of _course_ you’re the reason. I don’t need another one.

And almost as soon as he hears the words in his head, he knows they’re the wrong ones. He kissed Bitty for the first time less than an hour ago; he just can’t tell him that he’s going to build his life for at least the next few years around him. Jack is sure, he’s so sure. But he also knows that he’s already asking Bitty for a lot, to keep things secret during the next few months. Once he leaves for training camp, who knows how long it will be before they can meet again? And even when the season starts, he’ll be training and away on roadies and he knows that all he can offer Bitty is the prospect of rare stolen nights and very occasional weekends. 

Jack is choosing the Falconers because they will make those fleeting hours possible. But Bitty can’t know that, he can’t trap him into that life. And he will be trapped if he knows that Jack made the choice just for him. He’ll feel forced to commit to Jack, and god knows Jack is selfish enough to briefly entertain the thought. To be able to guarantee having Bitty after he leaves Samwell, even if it’s never often enough.

“I’d already decided, Bits. They’re the best fit for me. Didn’t you see all the fancy team comparison charts on the chalkboard over at Founders?” he tries his best for nonchalant, and isn’t quite sure how far he succeeds. He tries a smile instead. “I’m pretty sure Ransom was using quantum physics at some point, so it’s _got_ to be the right choice.”

“You promise?” Bitty insists, giving Jack a hard stare that probably isn’t quite as intimidating as he would like to think. His eyes are still damp and his cheek is creased from the pillowcase. His hair is messy, sticking out in clumps and cowlicks and Jack is hovering somewhere between laughter and awe as he looks at Bitty, finally here in his arms. At least for now. 

He doesn’t reply, just inches closer to kiss his mouth, and then his brow. He slides his fingers along the curve of Bitty’s cheekbone, tangling their legs even closer. Bitty sighs, long and low and he doesn’t push the issue any further.

From downstairs they hear the slam of the front door and the unmistakable thump of a backpack hitting the floor of the hall. Bitty tenses, his eyes wide as he turns to Jack. Jack squeezes his own eyes tight shut, willing the moment to stretch out a little longer; anything so that they don’t have to leave this bed, this room, this bubble of quiet and calm and the feeling of Bitty’s hands on his skin.

The familiar and utterly unwelcome voice of Chowder comes echoing through the Haus. “Um… anyone home? Bitty? There’s been some kind of tragic pie accident in the kitchen? And I just wanna say I didn’t have anything to do with it? Bitty, you up there?”

“Come back to me tonight? I mean-“ Bitty is already moving, he’s sitting up and fishing around desperately for his clothes on the floor. He’s red in the face and he seems to be flailing slightly as he pulls his undershirt back on. “-if you want to come over, after everyone’s asleep?”

Jack follows suit, swiftly pulling on his sweatshirt and jeans. He grabs Bitty’s shoulders as he’s crookedly buttoning up his shirt and waits until the boy looks up at him, flushed and nervous. There are a million things that Jack wants to say to him, so many things and they just don’t have the time right now. Maybe they never will. 

“I’m always going to want to come back to you, Bits.” 

And maybe, just maybe Bitty sees the truth in those words because his eyes are suddenly a little too bright again. He’s smiling up at Jack, smiling like he’s the most wonderful thing he’s seen all year. He lunges upwards and kisses Jack a little clumsily, his bandaged hand wrapped around the back of his neck. He squeezes Jack’s nape before he lets go, and laughs softly. 

“Come on, Mr. Zimmermann. We better get downstairs before the poor boy starts a manhunt.” he raises an eyebrow, and stands on tiptoe so that he can whisper provocatively in Jack’s ear, “And maybe I’ll even say _galangal_ for you again if you help me clean up that pie.”


End file.
